He was broken from the dream by the cousin coming forward to crouch at the bows. What now? More whales? MacCuish called out, the cousin called back; MacCuish adjusted their course. Medina, though straining his eyes, could not see what they saw. Or was it what they were hearing? For there was a new sound, a rushing, like the air in a shell. It had not been there before and it frightened him a little. The cousin called again; another shifting of the course. Then, a hundred yards ahead, Medina saw that what he had taken for grey moonlight on the sea was, in fact, the shore. Another call, another response. MacCuish, the shade of him, loosed the sail. An oar tested the water’s depth—then the cousin was gone, sliding into the sea and appearing again, standing beside them in the water. He walked the boat in as you would walk a horse. MacCuish joined him and they dragged the lugger’s nose up on to the beach. Calley and Medina climbed out, tottered on stiff legs over the sand. In the air above them a dog let out a single bark.

“We’ll stay tonight with MacCusk,” said MacCuish. “We were on the Achille together.”

They climbed the dunes then went in single file up a steep path cut into the rock. The dog must have woken someone. A voice hissed at them out of the invisible. MacCuish answered and the voice became the sound of greeting. A minute later there was a patch of yellow light and another voice drew them all to a door and then to a room, small, wood-lined, full of little cupboards and remarkably like a ship’s cabin. A woman was leaning over the fire and blowing sparks out of the dull heart of it. She straightened up as the men came in. Her face was the colour of the copper pan hanging from the beam above the fire, her hair a darker tint of the same, thick curls that had needed no curling iron.

“This is MacCusk,” said MacCuish. “His wife Sara.” To MacCusk he said, “These two men are interested in the Englishman I brought.”

MacCusk looked at them, then he and MacCuish spoke in their own language. Whatever it was they were saying to each other, the details, the finer points, it was clear from the tone that the interest was not welcome.

The woman brought a bottle and glasses. She put out a loaf of flat bread, unwrapped the muslin from a joint of cold meat. Her gown at the back was not properly fastened. She must have pulled it on at the sound of voices.

“Lo siento por llegar tan tarde,” said Medina, speaking to her under the noise of the other’s talking.

She glanced at him, went on setting the table. He was sure, however, she had understood him.